


Make it Alright to Come Undone

by roxyryoko



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Explicit Sex, F/M, First Time, Hand Job, Library Sex, Porn with Feelings, Table Sex, Vaginal Fingering, kinkmeme fill
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-28
Updated: 2020-06-28
Packaged: 2021-03-03 23:41:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,275
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24960229
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/roxyryoko/pseuds/roxyryoko
Summary: Sent as Linhardt’s errand boy to fetch a tome from the library, Caspar was completely out of his depth. When he found Hilda hiding from her chores, the last thing either of them wanted was to be responsible. After months of keeping their romance on the sly and slow to unfold, Hilda's request to graduate from "kissing training" to "sparring" leads Caspar to his breaking point— and a very memorable first time.
Relationships: Caspar von Bergliez/Hilda Valentine Goneril
Comments: 14
Kudos: 61
Collections: FE3H Kink Meme





	Make it Alright to Come Undone

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for Kaerra for all your feedback and help with this fic. I super appreciate it!
> 
> This is a kinkmeme fill for this prompt:  
> “Caspar's supposed to be finding a book for Linhardt. Hilda's bored, and there's no one else in the library.
> 
> “Turns out books aren't the only way to learn something. Such as how to pleasure a woman, and how to pleasure a man.
> 
> “(Caspar and Hilda learn how to turn each other on, and how to make each other come. Sexual acts that they do can be chosen at your discretion.)“

Caspar’s grip tightened on the tome clutched in his hands, frustration escalating as he struggled to comprehend the convoluted jargon that littered the page. Word after word sloshed around without meaning in his head and it took all his concentration to read each sentence in full rather than skim around the paragraphs. Historic dates, the names of rulers, hierarchical bloodlines of crests— it was all just too complex to follow.

“Dammit!” Caspar cursed as he closed the book with a loud clap. “I don’t even know what I’m looking for!”

He practically vibrated with frustration as he shoved the book back into its slot on the shelf.

How on Fódlan did he end up as Linhardt’s errand boy? He was supposed to be training! His best friend had promised to help him strategize against heavily armored opponents—sure, the promise was made begrudgingly with a heavy sigh, but a promise was a promise! Yet, when he arrived at the training grounds for the scheduled meeting, the minutes had ticked by, casual warm-up had turned to full-throttle workout, and Linhardt never showed himself. The training room dummies proved sufficient targets for his rage, but they weren’t going to help him gain the upper hand against the Death Knight! 

He gritted his teeth at the memory. If the Professor hadn’t shown up and blocked that last swing of the Death Knight’s scythe, well, Caspar didn’t want to think about what would have happened. He hated feeling so powerless. He needed to get stronger!

And instead of keeping his word to solve this much _more_ important issue, stupid Linhardt was off researching nonsense!

If Linhardt had slept through their session then maybe Caspar could have forgiven him; they could have just resumed after Linhardt woke up! The more training, the better. However, when Caspar stormed into his best friend’s room determined to retrieve Lindhardt even if it meant dragging his unconscious body off the bed and hauling him off to the training grounds, Linhardt had been awake, though incognizant to anything that actually mattered like promises and beating up bad guys. When Caspar voiced his grievances—admittedly, rather loudly— the bleary-eyed, slightly hysterical mage assaulted him with lengthy, cumbersome words and incomprehensible trains of thought that not only flew over his head, but left him more winded than his recent exertion.

Eager to escape Linhardt’s boring theories, Caspar agreed to an errand. That very errand led him to the library, scouring for any documentation he could find about the Crest of Lamine, for that was absolutely necessary for Linhardt’s breakthrough or whatever.

Caspar plucked another book off the shelf and flipped it open. He thundered a groan. Just reading the table of contents racked his brain into loops.

“You’re supposed to be quiet in the library, you know,” a teasing voice said from behind him.

Startled, he nearly dropped the book. However, the recognition of the owner’s voice lifted his mood considerably, even if her presence in the library mystified him— but then again, it was equally unusual that _Caspar_ would set foot in here.

With a broad grin, Caspar peaked around the bookcase to find Hilda ungracefully draped over a table, head lolling to the side to meet his gaze. Her rosy tresses pooled out all around, draping over her arms and partly concealing the book propped open at her fingertips.

She offered a sweet smile, but made no effort to rise. 

Caspar’s eyes fixated on the provocative sight, focusing on how her breasts compressed on the corner of the table, swelling against the tight edge of her bodice, and how her skirts rucked up, barely concealing her undergarments. Caspar’s pants became considerably uncomfortable.

Forcefully, he reminded himself of his task. He needed to find Linhardt’s stupid book and hold it out like bait until his friend helped him train!

Such distraction provided some relief.

“Maybe that’s why libraries aren’t really my thing,” he responded, playfully bantering as he haphazardly abandoned the book on top of several others. He rounded the row of bookcases and invited himself to her table, pulling out a chair and plopping into the seat with the backrest at his chest. 

Hilda hummed, “I’d imagine so. Just what are you doing here anyway?”

Caspar sighed in exasperation and slouched forward, pillowing his chin atop folded forearms. “Linhardt asked me to find some books or records or something on the crest of Lamine.”

A cheshire grin spread across her face. “I thought you only did favors for lil ol’ me?”

Caspar couldn’t help the blush that burned across his cheeks. Hilda had ceased to be demure when it came to requesting favors— “kissing training” she often teased when no one could overhear— since they had their first misunderstanding turned awkward, _amazing_ rendezvous. Not that Caspar could complain about their frequent excursions to her dormitory or trysts in the back of an abandoned classroom, in which they’d trade fervent kisses and caresses long into the night. Whereas everything seemed to be falling into chaos, kissing Hilda was simple and freeing. Each kiss, each touch, each draw of breath proved Caspar was alive and overwhelmed him with excitement and want, reminding him there was more to feel than the guilt and bloodlust that accompanied him in battle.

Maybe that’s why he was being so cautious. Normally he rushed into every situation without fearing the repercussions, but this was a battle he couldn’t afford to lose. Despite the mounting urge to speed things up, he remained steadfast in going slow with Hilda, even though she made it plainly clear that she had zero reservations.

Wouldn’t the Professor be so proud of his damn restraint— not that he’d ever, _ever_ talk to her about this.

Caspar cleared his throat. “That’s different.” He then shrugged, adding, “I’m always willing to help people out. Do it all the time.”

Hilda clasped her fingers together and stretched her arms out across the mahogany table.

“Wouldn’t catch me doing such an onerous errand,” she said, settling back into a comfortable position. “What’s he want with that stuff anyway? Is he doing some creepy research on Mercedes? Oh! Maybe it’s about her brother?”

“Pfft, no!” Caspar bellowed, irritated.

He didn’t care if he was loud. To the best of his knowledge, he and Hilda were alone in the library, and Hilda never judged nor reprimanded him for his excessive volume—such acceptance was one of the many things he liked about her. 

“That’d be actually useful, you know?” Caspar continued, scoffing. “Help us out so maybe we can take out the Death Knight!”

He inhaled deeply and flexed his fingers, attempting futilely to calm down. “I don’t know what he wants it for. He went on and on about Saint Timo-something and talking to birds or something crazy. I don’t know. I couldn’t follow most of it.”

Hilda’s brows furrowed in concern. “You’ve been really on edge since we fought the Death Knight.”

“Well, yeah, of course!” he groused, burrowing deeper into his arms. The familiar sense of shame somersaulted in his gut. “Mercedes almost died because I wasn’t strong enough to take him down.” 

Hilda reached a hand out across the table and squeezed his forearm. “It wasn’t your fault, Caspar. We should have arrived earlier to back you up.”

Caspar refused to meet her eye, grumbling. “Yeah, but he’s just one guy. I should have been able to take him.”

She squeezed his arm again. “All this pent-up frustration isn’t good for you.” Her voice lowered and she simpered, “I’m an expert when it comes to self-care, so I can totally help you relieve some stress. We can even work it out to be mutually beneficial.”

Caspar glanced up at her briefly, meeting pink eyes that currently matched her cheeks. She smiled and rubbed her palm soothingly up and down his arm. He sighed, “I’ve all ready walloped every training dummy the monastery owns, but, sure, I guess some real sparring would help.”

Hilda paused her caresses for a moment and then resumed, giggling, “Oh, my dear Caspar. What am I going to do with you?”

He raised a brow, sure he missed something, rapidly replaying the conversation in his mind. “Do you just want to watch me train or…or fight someone?” he asked, coming to no other conclusion.

She shook her head, laughing a little louder. “I do adore watching you fight, but I don’t think I’d mind getting into a tussle with you one of these nights.” 

Caspar was just about to ask for clarification—did _Hilda_ really just agree to spar?— when she pumped her fist enthusiastically into the air.

“But first, best of luck on your grand search! I’ll passionately cheer you on as you tear this library apart book by book.” She nestled back down and added, “Right from this table. But feel free to find me when you’re done.”

As much as Caspar’s ego delighted in Hilda rallying for his success, such a promise couldn’t relieve the dread and frustration—and now confusion—boiling in his gut. He’d prefer to finish this errand with haste. Then afterwards, perhaps he could persuade Hilda into training with him; that seemed much more enticing and productive than this. In fact, he felt excited at the possibility of fighting her. She was so strong but avoided the training hall like it was diseased. He rarely had the chance.

He fumed, “This ticks me off. Stupid Linhardt could have at least told me where to look! I’m not a book or research kinda guy. It’s gonna take forever at this rate.” 

Hilda’s long nails tapped against the table as she looked off thoughtfully. After a moment she muttered, “You could probably start looking in the…”

Suddenly, she straightened and tossed her long hair back over her shoulder. As she combed out tangles with her fingers, she added, “On second thought, you’ll probably get lost if I only point you in the direction, so I guess I have no choice but to show you.”

Hilda clambered out of her chair, much to Caspar’s surprise.

“Huh, you’re going to help?” he asked skeptically. “Just like that?”

She shrugged. “I thought of something I’d rather spend my time doing than watching you tear the library apart.”

“Thanks, Hilda!” he beamed, rising from his own chair. “I owe you one.”

His patience wouldn’t have lasted ten more minutes in the search. Now a boring, taxing errand could be completed with haste and he could spend time with Hilda. Seemed like a win-win. 

She dismissed him with a shake of her head. “Don’t worry about it. Everything works out better this way.”

Hilda sauntered past him and met his gaze with a coy smile. The tips of her fingers brushed lightly across his shoulder as she added, “Though, if you really want, I have a few ideas on how you can make it up to me.”

“Sure, whatever you want!” Caspar quickly agreed.

Hilda stopped in her tracks, skeptical. Caspar halted behind her, puzzled. 

Slowly, Caspar processed her words and the innuendo sank in.

“Oh,” he drawled. She meant their “kissing training.” His cheeks burned as he added bashfully, “Well, I’m more than happy to repay you that way.” 

Hilda drew up on her toes to peck him on the cheek. Even such brief contact made his breath catch and his mind wander to past excursions—the _book_ he reminded himself! She tittered as she drew away and used one hand to cup his face, wiping smudged lipstick off with a swipe of her thumb.

“Then let’s find this book without any more delay,” she crooned before lacing a set of their hands together. 

Tugging him along with a skip in her step, she led him up the stairs, confiding her reasons for hiding out in the library.

“Can you believe Seteth wanted me to feed all the horses?” she whined, pace slowing to painfully leisurely as they cleared the last step of their ascent and began to weave through the labyrinthine rows of bookcases. “Argh! That’s so much work! There’s like two hundred horses in this army, you know. And after we just marched back yesterday? No thank you! Fortunately, Marianne volunteered to take over for me, the martyr.”

“That was really nice of her,” Caspar agreed absentmindedly, distracted by the heat of their hands locked together.

“Wasn’t it? But I didn’t think Seteth would have mercy on my poor, weary feet, so I decided, what the heck, he’ll never think to find me in the library. I started reading a bit of a romance novel to relax and soon I was fast asleep.” She glanced mischievously at Caspar, adding, “But don’t you worry, I’m completely reenergized. I could even be convinced to get some sparring in tonight. Maybe a little sword practice.”

Her speech glossed over him until the mention of fighting and swords. Instantly, his attention peaked.

Excitedly, he said, “Oh, yeah? That’s awesome! I’ve been wanting to spar against—

In a featherlight dance, her fingers tickled across the seam of his pants.

And suddenly everything crashed together at once. 

“Oh.”

Hilda smirked and snuggled into Caspar’s side, wrapping her other hand over his bicep. She leaned her head on his shoulder, humming playfully.

“After such a refreshing nap, I don’t think I’ll be able to sleep very well,” she said, demurely, playing innocent suddenly. “I’d like it if you’d keep me company tonight. It’s easier to fall asleep with you there. You seem to know just how to tucker a girl out.”

Caspar flushed scarlet.

Sparring.

Swordplay.

Stress release.

He knew what Hilda wanted—more than kissing that’s for sure. And every impulse in his body reiterated that Caspar wanted it too.

Yet, he had promised himself to treat Hilda properly. She wasn’t used to the compliments she deserved, and he wanted to prove her insecurities mute with reverent adoration. Hilda was important to him and he wanted her to know that he wasn’t fooling around with her; he was sincere with every compliment he uttered and nothing she could or couldn’t give would ever disappoint him. He didn’t want to mess this up. The consequences would be unbearable.

Still, each night next to her he fell asleep unimaginably frustrated, adding to the mounting exasperation inclusive of his humiliating defeat by the Death Knight. No matter how much he punched and kicked, the feeling wouldn’t dissipate.

Maybe Caspar’s reluctance could be attributed to cowardice.

He fumbled to reply, flustering as he pointed out her contradictions, “Usually you say you can’t fall asleep because I make you feel ‘so smitten.’”

Her voice whispering—no moaning— those words rang so clearly in his mind, accompanied by a salacious picture supplied by his wonderfully, traitorous imagination: Hilda under him, pale skin bared and flushed red, moving with him with no intent to sleep, wantonly proving just how ‘smitten’ she was with him.

The real Hilda nuzzled impossibly closer, chirping, “Let’s just say you do both.” Her voice softened, an unusual vulnerability pricking the edges, and she looked off ahead. “Will you stay over?”

The request took him a bit by surprise. He was still getting used to Hilda explicitly soliciting her desires and wants, but since they expressed their mutual attraction, she’d become a lot more frank. He appreciated her effort. It made things a lot easier for him, too.

But, with the promiscuous thoughts flooding his mind, imploring so bluntly was treading into dangerous territory.

By nature, Caspar was reckless. And he could feel his restraint crumbling.

“Yeah, of course, I’ll stay,” he assured.

“That makes me happy,” she whispered, a besotted smile at her lips. The tone of her voice carried so giddy, so sing-song, so genuine that Caspar couldn’t help but preen that he elicited such emotion from her.

“Oh, not ‘smitten’?” he teased, nudging her gently and beaming a grin.

She returned his smile. “I think you’ll manage to make me feel that way remarkably quickly.”

Quickly wasn’t now. The uncertain time was agonizingly too long to wait. Caspar wanted to kiss her senseless, crush his body against her, touch her at all the places he’d forbade his hands to wander. Now.

“Yeah? Is that a challenge?” he gloated. “I bet I can make you feel smitten before we’re even back at the dorms.”

Once again, a faint echo in his mind reprimanded Caspar to restrain his desires, but he was reconciling at lightning speed the victory of the impatient majority. Tonight, there was no way he’d say no to Hilda. He’d gladly oblige her with “swordplay” or any other favor.

Hilda’s cheeks turned bright red. “Oh, Caspar, my heart doesn’t put up much of a fight with you around.”

Caspar flushed in turn. Romance had never been on his agenda as a second-son—glory and honor were always much more important to carve his way somewhere in this world, but being with Hilda made Caspar feel weak in a way he had never felt before. He’d never been one to dismiss frailty, after all it proved where he needed to get stronger, but it didn’t seem too bad to be so vulnerable if it was just between them. He risked everything on the battlefield, why not risk everything with Hilda?

“Same goes for me with you,” he said, the words coming out before the thought had completely formed in his mind. Her cheeks flushed even deeper and she looked up at him timidly under thick eyelashes as she pressed her cheek closer to his chest. Such contact was comforting and exceedingly tempting.

He tried so hard lately to conquer his impulsive side—his greatest weakness—but Hilda didn’t mind if he let loose, shackles off. She never had. 

Hilda halted right as they rounded the corner of a particularly cluttered bookcase, causing Caspar to stumble momentarily. She pointed to the towering bookcase built into the wall directly in front of them, past a rope segregating the restricted section of the library.

“Most of the crest stuff is in this section,” she explained. “I’m pretty sure all records on the Ten Elites are over there.” 

The collision and her words wrenched him back to the moment: their quest to fetch a book for Linhardt. But Caspar couldn’t focus on that. After all, how much longer would this errand take? They still hadn’t found the mythical tome and it was a good twenty minute walk back to the dorms, plus postponement by a sleep-deprived mage. Then up the stairs— Dammit! It’d all take _much_ too long!

Hilda unlinked their arms and stepped forward towards the rope.

Fuck the book! Fuck restraint!

Caspar snatched her arm and pulled her back. She crashed into his chest with a surprised, “Oof!”

_He wanted to kiss her senseless…_

Alarmed, Hilda snapped around, a complaint on the tip of her tongue before he mashed their mouths together. Her body tensed, but quickly relaxed as his grip shifted, one hand moving to her back and the other to cup her cheek. 

He kissed her again and again, just as urgently. Obediently her lips parted. Hilda’s sweet and languid kisses fell out of sync with Caspar’s rough and insistent lead for the first few motions, but she easily relented to his demand for dominance. Surprisingly eager, Hilda rose to match his enthusiasm, imbuing passion into every sip and suckle. Caspar’s want only grew. Caution abandoned and lust freed from its restraints, each kiss became more persistent and more wild. Hilda's timing faltered, struggling against his relentless onslaught. Her sharp breaths filled the recesses between the close of a kiss and start of another as his teeth belligerently tugged her bottom lip outward.

_He wanted to crush her against his body..._

Caspar pushed her backwards, right against one of the bookcases. His arm flexed tighter around her waist, drawing her closer so her breasts pressed against his chest and her hip pressed against his all ready swelling erection. Hilda clung to his shoulders, unbalanced but not deterred, returning kiss after kiss.

Eventually, Hilda pulled away, breathless and basked in a warm glow. “What’s gotten into you?” she hummed, lips ghosting in front of his.

_He wanted to touch her at all the places he’d forbade his hands to wander..._

“You said you wanted to spar,” he huffed before he kissed under her chin, proceeding to suck mercilessly on the soft flesh. Hilda responded with a gasp. Then another when his hand snuck under her skirts and groped her rear. He smooched the wet spot on her neck and growled, “Let’s spar.”

Hilda’s nails dug into his shoulders as he found another spot to mark. 

She groaned, “What about Linhardt’s book?” 

“He can wait. He’s got a lot more patience than I do.”

Shifting his hand to the nape of her neck, he forced her back into another passionate kiss, swallowing her astonished gasp.

Hilda smiled dreamily when it ended. “Abandoning responsibility, eh? Am I rubbing off on you, Caspar?” She pecked his chin. “Not that I mind. Hiding out from chores, stealing kisses seems a much more exhilarating use of time.”

Her eyes fell shut as she tilted her head, adorning sweet kisses down his cheek, meandering slowly towards his mouth.

The touch sent chills down his back, but the leisurely pace challenged his patience. Naturally, impatience won. He roughly claimed her mouth again and Hilda easily submitted to another zealous entanglement of lip and tongue.

“I want to do more than kiss you, Hilda,” Caspar said in a low and dark voice when he liberated her. 

He squeezed her rear and forced her even closer, both delighting and agonizing when her hip bone crushed against his length. Her eyes snapped open and she stumbled, finding balance with her legs spread farther apart, much to Caspar’s benefit.

Hilda simpered, “My sweet Caspar wants to be daring in today’s training session?” She pushed her chest against his. “All right then. I promise I won’t tell Holst if you take a handful of the Goneril treasure.”

Her fingers laced around his hand at her neck and brought them to her lips. She kissed his knuckles. “You can be a little rougher than you were last time. I’m not as delicate as I claim, but let’s keep that our little secret, okay?”

His eyes fell to her breasts, pinned against his chest, displayed so enticingly with the invitation to touch.

“Uh, okay—Wait! No, not that—I mean that’s part of it, sure,” he struggled, growing frustrated. 

She raised an eyebrow and he freed his hand from her grip. Instead, he stroked her cheek. His heart hammered in his chest and desire coiled in his groin. He leaned his forehead against hers, squeezed his eyes shut, and inhaled deeply through his nose.

“I’m tired of holding back,” he clarified, eyes snapping open to pierce hers. “I want you, Hilda. Right now. No more ‘training.’ I’m gonna make you mine!”

Hilda’s eyes widened and her cheeks flushed. She breathed in sharply, but said nothing despite the passing of several moments.

“I-if you want,” he amended, flustered and discouraged.

He let his arm fall to his side and drew back a step, grip slacking around her bottom. To Caspar’s surprise, Hilda followed, repositioning herself right up against him.

“You win,” she whispered at last. “We’re not even back at the dorms yet and you already got a girl feeling ‘smitten.’ My heart _really_ can’t seem to put up much of a fight against you, can it?”

She cupped his face in both hands and pressed a slow, gentle kiss on his lips. When she pulled away she found his gaze, cooing, “Take me back to my room and ravish me, Caspar.”

Caspar’s breath caught and his mind filtered through the dozens of scenarios he’d imagined during restless nights. Images of his hands all over her, his lips all over her, participating in marvelously titillating acts with her.

He pushed himself flush against her, dipping his knee between her thighs. Almost ferally, he rasped, “I can’t wait that long, Hilda.”

His hand slipped down to her shoulder and he pushed the strap of her bodice out of the way to suck a love bite on her collarbone. Hilda shuddered, her legs trembling against his own, and her grip tightened on his neck.

She gasped, “We’re in the library. Seteth’s room is just around the corner.” 

Her protest fell short when she bucked her hips against his. Caspar’s lust surged and he grinded back, squeezing her bottom fiercer and sucking her skin untamed.

“So?” he cajoled, dragging a wet bottom lip up her shoulder. He nipped her neck. “Thought you wanna live uninhibited, Hilda. Fuck everyone else’s opinions. Fuck what’s proper. Let’s do what we want.”

Hilda whimpered under another relentless suckle. She’d surely chastise him for all the bruises later, but in the moment neither seemed to care. Instead, he scoured for another spot to mark, desperate to lay claim to every inch of her skin.

Suddenly, Hilda pushed him back with that shocking strength of hers. He was just about to apologize when she grinned deviously. 

“You’re right,” she said. “Restraints off. Let’s not stop, not hold back. Make a wreck of me, Caspar.”

Giddy, she seized his hand and tugged him around the bookcase, leading him to a small nook with a study table tucked in the corner.

Hilda snaked her arms under his robe and around his waist. Kissing his neck, she commanded, “Let me borrow this, you're not going to need it much longer anyway.” She tugged on the inside of the robe.

Like a man removing a burning garment, Caspar obliged. Hilda threw it over her shoulders and twirled around two rotations with a giggle before laying it across the table. 

She hopped onto the ledge, his robe acting as a cushion between her thighs and the wood. Caspar leapt at her, patience long gone, nearly knocking her over, but his strong arms flexed around her waist to return her upright. Laughter rang from her lips before he silenced it with an ardent kiss. Eagerly, her legs spread wider and he slotted himself between them. 

“Perfect height,” Hilda hummed and knocked her pelvis against his, earning a soft hiss in response. She captured his mouth again and Caspar rolled against her, becoming more and more undone as she matched his urgent rhythm. 

His hands moved to her breasts and squeezed each firmly, repeating the action again and again. Hilda warbled softly into the crook of his neck. 

“Let’s see the Goneril treasure,” he teased right before he kissed the skin above the cut of her bodice. He forced his fingers under the fabric, but the outfit resisted, allowing him minimal access. Hilda tittered and reached behind her neck to unbutton the clasp at her nape. The halter top fell forward. Catching his eye, she placed her hands on either side of her chest and inched the bodice down at a torturously unhurried pace.

Caspar’s blush deepened at the exposure even though this was not the first time he’d seen her chest. Though, perhaps the most climatic. He couldn’t help but think that the Goddess didn’t spare any expense when it came to Hilda. Nipples erect, her ample breasts swelled over the awkward twist of her bodice, and Caspar couldn’t help his leer.

Perhaps spurred by his hesitation, Hilda grabbed one of his hands and kissed the tips of his fingers. “Like what you see?” she purred. 

“Um, yeah, of course,” he mumbled bashfully. “Everything about you is gorgeous, Hilda.”

She shook off her own blush. “I don’t mind if you stare, but it’s more fun to touch, don’t you think?”

Nervous anticipation knotted in his stomach and feral want writhed in his loins as Hilda guided his hand over one breast. With great urgency, he cupped his palm around it—or at least as much as he could hold. Fixating on her response, he kneaded it. Her skin was velveteen compared to the coarse calluses that littered his palms and fingers. If it did scratch, Hilda didn’t complain, instead she kissed him softly, breathing heavier. Determined to explore every inch of supple flesh, his other hand joined, fondling her second breast, and he marveled at the way they conformed and undulated under his fingers.

Hilda’s lips moved under his jaw where she sucked a languid love bite. Titillated sighs and gasps interrupted her task intermittently, echoing prominently in his ear. Her fingers slipped under the edge of his shirt, cool and smooth against the burning skin of his back. With sprawled fingers she caressed circular patterns over his sturdy muscles and up to his shoulder blades. She encountered bruises, welts, and sore muscles from his earlier training session, but he ignored every sting of pain, too distracted by the thoughts of Hilda and sex tumbling through his mind.

Unrestrained need replaced Caspar’s hesitation. His hands grew bolder and more amorous. He strummed her peaks with his thumbs and pinched occasionally, squeezing harder, all the while grinding against her unyieldingly. He groaned and panted at each spike of pleasure, catapulting him further into the daze of lust, excitement, and passion. Only Hilda mattered, and seduced by her he was rendered weak, his need for her growing incomprehensible. The thrill of a fight paled in comparison to the thrill of her touch.

His voice was heady and a little shy when he begged, “Touch me...please.”

Hilda pulled away with one final smooch on his neck. She kissed his lips tenderly and ran a hand down his chest and naval, stopping right at the top of his pants. 

“Are you done with the gallant hero protecting my honor act?” she asked, a glint of mischief in her roseate eyes.

“I wanted to treat you right, Hilda,” he replied, voice cracking. 

Hilda’s eyes widened slightly, her aroused flush deepening considerably. Then she kissed him again, slow and heartfelt.

“Oh, Caspar, I’m still not accustomed to hearing things like that,” she professed tenderly. “That’s why I want this with you.” 

Her hand slinked languidly down his inner thigh and finally brushed her fingertips over the bulge in his pants. Caspar’s breath hitched and he took in her satisfied reaction. Her lips were swollen and her neck was decorated with red marks brighter than the flush glowing down to her chest. He’d seen vignettes of this side of her before, but now it roused him beyond the usual anxious exhilaration.

He cupped her cheek. “I'm still gonna treat you right. I'm gonna make sure you feel good, Hilda. You’re amazing, I want you to feel the way I see you.”

Hilda froze for a moment. Then tilted her head to kiss his palm. Once. Twice. Three times. Something solemn and bittersweet wrinkled her brows as she planted each kiss. 

“You’re the amazing one,” she breathed, right before she rubbed her palm over his concealed cock. Caspar took a sudden breath and his fingers twitched on her cheek. She repeated the splendid torture over and over, massaging firmly then ebbing to featherlight brushes.

Yet, it wasn’t enough. Still too tame, too constricted for Caspar’s raw desire.

Eventually he urged, “Come on, Hilda. Really touch me.”

She moved her caresses to his thigh—the tease!—and hummed playfully, “You made me wait an unbelievably long time, what’s a little longer?”

Screwing up his brows, he grunted a plea, “Cmon, Hilda…” 

He pinched her hand between his thighs, desperate for more pressure, for faster caresses, for something to quell the exuberant want.

“Good thing being patient is way too bothersome, right?” 

She pecked his cheek and then used both hands to pluck open the buttons holding up the fall flap of his breeches. The wait tortured him. Her touch was delicate and lackadaisical, and she repetitively bumped against his throbbing erection.

Finally, the flap fell down and his cock sprang free from the barrier. Hilda offered a sultry smirk as he attempted to calm his anxious breathing. She trailed her fingertips up and down his length with a teasing walking motion that barely tickled his flesh.

“Someone’s excited for lil me,” Hilda baited, dipping a fingertip into the pre-cum oozing from his tip. Caspar’s neck burned with his embarrassment and he strained for an excuse, but she kissed his lips, silencing him. “It’s flattering, don’t worry.”

She traced the cum in circles around the head, and Caspar groaned under the intensifying sensations. His mind blurred into a complete mess, and sunk even deeper when Hilda reached between her own legs and lathered her fingers in her wetness before wrapping them around his shaft, slicking it up in a few quick motions.

Fuck! The shocking action evoked further lust.

Caspar hissed loudly as she began to pump up and down. Her hand didn’t hold nearly as much as his own, but just the knowledge that it was Hilda awarding him such intimacy filled him with an immeasurable pleasure. He kissed her sloppily, gasping wantonly at intermittent pleasure points.

“You probably like it fast, hmm?” Hilda purred, speeding up.

He screwed his eyes shut and shook his head. “If you’re gonna do it, I want it to be slow,” he gritted, then added sheepishly. “But I don’t mind being roughed up.”

He wanted to savor her touch. 

“Ugh! That sounds like extra effort,” she laughed. “Lucky for you, I don’t mind doing a little extra work for my dear Caspar. Show me.”

Placing his hand over hers to lead the pace, he slid it from hilt to tip and then back up, squeezing firmly in the middle to encourage a little roughhousing. He guided her through the movement a few more times before releasing her hand, returning it to attend to her chest. Following his instructions, her strokes incited delectable rapture. Caspar shoved his fist into his mouth to stop a boisterous moan. 

Hilda laughed and removed his hand to seize his mouth, batting her tongue against his with swipes and jabs more exciting than any fistfist, all the while, fighting another battle with his twitching cock.

It was all _too_ exciting.

Suddenly, Caspar grabbed her hand, stopping her rhythm, and broke their kiss.

“Stop!” he commanded with a groan.

Flustered and frustrated, he buried his face in the crook of her neck, concealed by tangled pink tresses. His whole body quavered and he tried hopelessly to think of fighting or Linhardt’s stupid book or anything besides—

“Caspar,” Hilda said, panting. “Were you about to let loose your arrow early?” 

He stiffened then shook his head, sneering, “What? No!” A pause, and then a vulnerable admission, “Fine, almost.”

“Oh, Caspar, you really haven’t been with any girls.”

He pouted, but thankfully she couldn’t see it. The euphoria tempered slightly under this new distress. 

“Great,” he grumbled. “Now you’re making fun of me.”

Hilda took his face and forced him to look at her. “You just need a little distraction and luckily, I’m pretty distracting. Why don’t you pamper me a bit, hmm?” 

She kissed him sweetly and then leaned back on the table, bracing herself on her palms. As an invitation, she spread open her legs wider and wiggled her hips.

Caspar leered, lust combating nervousness and winning.

“You are pretty distracting,” he growled in agreement, running his hands down her waist and thighs. Hilda shivered. “Though, I’m easily distracted.”

“Ah, and here I thought you getting distracted was limited to wrong-doing and fights. Who knew a pretty girl could do it?”

“Just this pretty girl,” he admitted, earnest.

In one swift movement, he rucked up her skirts, clearer revealing her damp undergarments. The tempting sight only escalated his desire yet again. Finally, he’d allow himself to touch her there.

“You’re so amazing at unarmed combat,” Hilda cooed, elation laced in her voice. “Use those hands to make me swoon, Caspar.”

Caspar trailed his hands to her inner thighs, rubbing soothing patterns. His bravery peaked along with his want and he ran two fingers up and down her center. Hilda shivered again. He dared a glance back at her visage, finding her biting her lower lip and brows drawn.

He could have teased her a little more, but his remaining thread of patience snapped then and there. Caspar pushed her undergarment to the side and ran his fingers along her slit and through her curls, taken back a bit by how warm and slick she was. His breath caught just as much as Hilda’s. Repeating the action, he leaned forward and kissed her slowly and sensually.

“Is it okay to touch you...inside?” he whispered shyly. Hilda smiled and nodded.

“Touch wherever you want, Caspar,” she said.

His finger drummed around her entrance a few moments. Once he gathered the confidence, he dipped a finger inside. He found her tighter than he expected, but that only made him wish it wasn’t his finger under such constriction.

Hilda inhaled sharply and then shifted to wrap her arms around his shoulders, holding on tight. She kissed his neck and gasped as he moved his finger around, not really sure of how to maneuver. Eventually, he picked up a rhythm that she seemed to enjoy for she whimpered softly next to his ear and her grip tightened on his shoulders. 

“You can, ah, use more,” she gasped. “You’re going to be bigger than that.”

Caspar flushed, but obeyed, slipping another finger inside. Her walls relaxed speedily and he started to pump. Hilda climbed her legs high up on his hips and hooked them tight. Her nails dug into his shoulders and she bucked back against his hand. Encouraged, he worked faster and planted opened-mouth kisses on her shoulder.

Hilda struggled to speak, beginning praises then abruptly cutting off with moans and whimpers, but she managed to whisper his name. The want in her voice made him quiver.

“Caspar,” she repeated, just as dangerously. 

Suddenly and unexpectedly, he broke, lust defeating his want to subvert the one thing that mattered. He came hard, hot, and incredibly satisfying right on Hilda’s thigh. The bliss lasted all but two seconds before it transformed to shame and regret.

Chagrined, Caspar groaned into her shoulder, “Fuck! I let loose the arrow…”

Hilda patted his back sympathetically and then kissed his neck. He removed his hand but didn’t return the embrace

“It’s all right,” she crooned, cupping his face and caressing with her thumbs. He avoided her gaze. She nuzzled her nose against his. “Though you could clean up after yourself.”

She glanced down with a grimace to her thigh where the liquid puddled. More ashamed, he grabbed the fabric of his robe she sat atop and wiped it off. Hilda’s frown deepened.

“Sorry,” he mumbled, straining to speak through the humiliation. “Sorry, I wanted to—I didn’t mean to do _that_.”

Hilda shook her head and smiled deviously. “It’s a three round tournament. You lost that one—or maybe you won depending how you look at it. Either way, you can make it up to me.”

She released his face with one final stroke of her thumbs. Then she slipped off her underwear and discarded it to the floor.

“You’ll pick this up later for me, won’t you?” she asked in a sultry voice. She didn’t wait for a response before she grabbed his hand and added, “You said you want me to feel amazing, right?” She laughed self-deprecatingly. “I almost believe I am when you say it.” 

She returned his hand back between her legs, but the doubt in her voice gripped his attention more.

“You're completely amazing, Hilda,” Caspar assured quickly. “You’re such a badass fighter, and always so perceptive to everyone’s feelings and needs. You’re a great quartermaster no matter how much you complain about the responsibility.” He touched her lightly, watching her grow adorably uncomfortable at the compliments. “Not to mention, how incredibly gorgeous you are. You’re more than any second-son could have asked for.”

Caspar cupped her cheek with his free hand and kissed her sweetly, pleased when she melted into the intimacy. When they parted Hilda leaned her forehead against his, inhaling deeply.

He'd tell her over and over such praise and hoped one day she'd believe it.

She sighed, “It’s too much work to argue with someone as stubborn as you.”

She placed her hand over his and guided it to her clit. “Touch me here,” she instructed, pushing one of his fingers down. 

Caspar explored in gentle, steady circular patterns, watching her intently. First around the area she indictated and then shallower rotations on top of her pleasure point. She leaned her chin on his shoulder and kissed his neck tenderly. 

“Hmm, that’s good,” she commended, gasping on the last syllable.

“I’m not gonna lose the next two rounds,” Caspar growled, earning a small giggle from Hilda. “I’m gonna make you feel good, Hilda.”

“You got a good start.” Hilda claimed his mouth hungrily, and then briefly pulled away to order, "Harder. And, ah, you can tap or move up and down too.”

Following her suggestions, Caspar applied more pressure, which caused Hilda to squirm under his touch. He moved his fingers in faster circles, back and forth, up and down, tapped occasionally, and teased away to grasp her thigh roughly or slide along her slit, earning pitiful whines when he wandered away too long. All the while, he savored every draw of breath and every moan and whimper his ministrations elicited from Hilda.

Watching her unravel only made him want to conjure more ardent responses; to watch her shout in unrestrained pleasure, clutch him desperately close, and let loose all the lies in her head that told her she’s anything but amazing.

He kissed down her neck, chest and breasts, peppering light pecks around the peaks of her mounds, and sucking gently on the supple flesh. To his delight, Hilda warbled feebly when he laved his tongue in a long draw over her nipple. Eventually, he dared to take one nipple in his mouth, sucking tentatively at first. Hilda moaned unexpectedly loud and lewd, spurring a more impassioned approach. 

“You like that?” he asked triumphantly, feeling her shake under the persistent press of his fingers. 

She nodded furiously and clutched him impossibly tight, pushing his head down to urge continuation. Caspar obliged, lapping his tongue over her nipple as he sipped in more flesh.

Hilda became more and more undone around him. 

“Oh, Caspar, my Caspar,” she mewed, wiggling and fingers raking down his back. “Ah, you’re a pretty quick learner...”

Caspar pressed her clit more firmly, earning another whimper and kissed her collarbone. “Nah, I’ve just always been pretty good with my hands,” he teased. 

“Ah, well, make sure you don’t break any fingers in a future fistfight.”

As he continued, Hilda whined more voluminously, heeding no mind to the public space, each “ah” and “oh” more lustful and strained than the last. She buckled around him and flexed her hips, grip tightened, legs hooked higher, voice crescendoing.

Caspar stopped, jubilant.

Frustrated, Hilda huffed, “Caspar! I wasn’t—keep going, please!”

Clearly he misread the signs of female climax, but he set back to the task with renewed determination.

At last, Hilda writhed one final time before the rapturous tension released. She moaned his name so loud it’d be a miracle if all the former professors remained oblivious to their tryst. Her grip around him slacked and she repeated his name in a ramble of pants and sighs.

The cry of his name, so lustful and unhinged, the heave of her labored breaths, the sweat dotting her skin, and the way her face scrunched up so close to tears all roused a resolute thirst within Caspar. Goddess, Hilda was so beautiful when she let herself be truly free.

“I want you!” Caspar growled, voice husky and raw. “Now!”

Hilda kissed him languorously and lazily wrapped her fingers along his throbbing shaft. “Seems you’re ready for the final round,” she said. Another kiss and she scooted closer to the ledge of the table. “Oh, Caspar, I want you too.”

They recommenced their kisses with a fierceness that startled even himself, but it didn’t lack passion. He panted when they parted and rocked against her, length skimming across her damp curls, the need almost painful in his desperateness. Hilda guided him to her entrance and with a gasp he sunk inside. Hilda’s breath hitched. And it was like something he never felt before, so dauntingly spectacular, pressure blissfully all consuming. Hilda relaxed visually and hooked her legs high on his waist. He wrapped one arm around one of her thighs and secured the remaining around her waist.

Clumsily, slowly, he began to move, awkwardly realizing he needed to bend his legs and practically squat to plunge into her effectively. Hilda returned his pace with strong rocks and lustful sighs that grew into amorous songs.

“Fuck,” he whimpered, thrilled and lost in a multitude of sensation.

Hilda kissed him sloppy and wet, plunging her tongue into his mouth and swallowing his every gasp. He kissed and moved with incessant, zealous hunger and excitement, speed and pressure escalating. The table creaked and slid back at several heavy thrusts, causing them both to laugh.

“Come on, Hilda! I want to hear you say how smitten you are with me!” he half-chortled, half-roared.

Hilda giggled between kisses. “Oh, my dear Caspar,” she crooned. “I’m more than smitten with you. I’m enthralled. Enamored. Entranced.” She punctuated each emotion with a kiss.

Caspar pushed her down onto the table and threw her leg over his shoulder, the other fell loosely on his side. He braced his hands on the table so he could slam into her harder and faster. Hilda arched her back and gripped the sides of the table with one hand and reached for him with the other. He pecked it and leaned over her more, captivated by her reactions.

Even in the dim light of the candelabra, he could see her clearly. Her hair was sprawled out around her head, bangs and breasts shook with each rock back and forth, and all visible skin was rosy-colored. She moaned just as unbridled as he, the cry crescendo as their mutual pleasure increased.

“Caspar!” She wailed over and over, like a chant.

In time, the tension coiled in his groin and burst, blinding him momentarily. Although he wanted to chase every last moment of bliss, he pulled out suddenly and clenched his hand around his shaft, catching his spill as he bellowed her name.

Afterwards, he collapsed onto his elbows, stooped over her, panting heavily. Hilda hummed and wrapped her arms around his neck, arching up to plant a sweet kiss on his forehead before relaxing back down. 

“That was pretty amazing,” Caspar mumbled, earning chuckles from Hilda.

They remained entwined like that for some time, euphoria slowly subduing, heartbeats returning to a steady beat, and breathing normalizing. Hilda carded her fingers in soothing circles through his hair, fixating on the close-cropped sections which he knew she adored due to the stiff, coarse tickle. A wash of relief spread over Caspar and the tension held in his muscles and nerves for days finally subsided a little.

He shifted at last and kissed her shoulder, before lifting the arms of the robe trapped under her and wrapping them around her torso.

Hilda smirked. “Oh, now you want me to be modest? Didn’t seem to matter two minutes ago.”

“Hey, come on,” he said, a bit ruefully. “I just thought you’d be cold.”

“I’m not cold if you keep me warm.” She pulled him closer into a tender embrace, which Caspar returned, tucking his arms under her neck and shoulders. “And I’m sure you’ll keep me nice and warm during the second tournament.” 

Surprised, he reeled up. “Second tournament?” 

Hilda laughed brightly. “What? Worn out, Caspar?”

“No! Of course not!” he scoffed. “I’m totally down for another go. Just let me catch my second wind first.” 

They disentangled themselves from one another, Caspar drew back on his elbows, catching his breath still. Hilda sat up straight and adjusted her bodice, covering her breasts and reclasping the neck piece. 

“You have the entire walk back to the dorms to catch it,” she said. “We should get out of here before my brother gets an unsavory letter from Seteth informing him what a certain General von Bergliez was doing to his sweet, innocent sister in the library.”

Caspar smirked and smugly declared, “In that case, I’ll have to make you scream so loud that he doesn’t need a letter from Seteth to hear all about it.”

“You devil!” Hilda blushed and shoved him so hard he nearly stumbled off the table.

Still, he laughed, continuing right through buttoning his pants and retrieved her underwear off the floor as she previously requested. Hilda giggled reluctantly, failing to hold her amusement back. 

After brushing out her hair with her fingers and wiping lipstick smudges off Caspar’s face and neck, she hopped off the table. She then gathered up his robe and wrapped herself in it with the excuse she needed to cover the multitude of love bites he imparted on her. They joined hands as they left the library, trading stolen kisses and whispered challenges of what salacious activities they would do back in Caspar’s room—Hilda’s needed an itty-bitty amount of help to tidy up and both decided they had more pressing interests.

The next morning Linhardt rapped sluggishly on Caspar door, requesting the forgotten book, and rumors of ghosts moaning and thumping around in the library spread around the monastery, started fearfully by Lysithea and ecstatically embellished by Mercedes.

**Author's Note:**

> Hang out with me on [twitter](https://twitter.com/roxyryoko) if you want! Or check out my other Hilspar fics! (Both sexy and fluffy!) Comments and Kudos are always appreciated.


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